We Met on the Street
by Femme27
Summary: AU that begins before the Jacobs meet the Fosters. Instead of beating her foster father's car with a baseball bat and being shipped to Juvie, Callie connects with a local gang for protection. How will the siblings find their way into the Fosters' home? Can Stef and Lena fix them? Will they ever be truly safe? Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

"Back the hell off my brother, Damien. We've been through this before." Callie shoved the young man roughly aside, pushing her way into the shared bathroom and readjusting the red bandana wrapped around her brown hair.

Jude was perched mutely on the makeshift bed, really just a musty pile of blankets covering the cold concrete, picking at the blue polish on his fingers while enigmatically absorbing the argument caused by his existence.

"Damn, girl, I just be sayin'—I was cookin' at his age. What are you, little freak, like 11 now?" The adolescent turned on his heel and stared at Jude, who stared blankly back, as indecipherable as he had been yesterday, and the month before, and the year prior to that.

"It's unnerving, Cal. It's bad enough that the kid don't speak, but dude's gotta start pullin' his own weight. I be tryin' to have your back. I heard em choppin' it up, what to do with him. They be stayin' up whisperin' the last few nights. Pretty soon, you not gonna be callin' the shots no more, no matter how good you run them streets. It's been two years. We ain't got no surplus to be feedin'… feedin'… what do you call them things that stick to whales?"

"Barnacles?" Callie rolled her eyes into the cracked mirror that was propped up on an inoperable sink, the expression multiplying before vanishing; Damien's face, scrunched up in comical concentration, peered back at her through the looking glass. She swallowed hard, trying to repress the fear that had crawled its way up her throat like nausea. "You should have stayed in school."

Whipping the towel off its rack with rapid speed, Callie spun and lashed out at the shirtless teen, playfully pelting his skin with the damp rag in an effort to ease her nerves, to deny the inevitable recognition of his words. She needed a plan, and fast.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should have too." Damien caught the weapon in his open palm, yanking it gently away from Callie. He nudged his head in Jude's direction, adding, "You and dat boy both" to the statement before sauntering away, leaving her in sudden, oppressive silence.

The leaning walls of their refuge, really just an abandoned home in a neglected neighborhood of San Ysidro, pressed heavily against her heart, and she couldn't remember having ever felt so alone.

Hours later, after the sun had gone down and so had her brother, Callie made her way through the crowded kitchen, brushing at the thick smoke that rose and gathered like storm clouds from the glass tubes and connected piping littered across the plastic table.

She scanned the room for Marco's tanned face, searching for the row of tattooed tears that dropped from his eye to his cheek, making him shine brighter in veiled light. She slid beside him as he counted the cash, lurking in the shadows to avoid disruption, holding her gaze haughty and off of the floor. She couldn't slip now.

"Yo, bro," a voice cut through the hum of activity in the room, "I think BG Bitch be waiting for ya. Think she wants some of your _attention_." Hoots and hollers echoed the pronouncement, and Callie fought the reddening of her cheeks.

"You can shut your fucking mouth, Joe, or I can shut it for you." She threatened the shadows now, stepping out of obscurity and lowering the register of her voice as she dropped to her knees before Marco; she spoke quickly, hoping to avoid the onslaught of Joe's verbal retaliation. "I need to talk to you," she widened her eyes and placed a hand on his denim-clad thigh, "please."

As she followed him out the back door and into the cloudless night, only one thought was clear in her mind: _She would never let Jude work in that kitchen._


	2. Chapter 2

It was always amazing to Callie, the beauty found in darkness, like the stars that hung as picture frames over her bed in the grass. She hadn't moved for hours. Every time that she attempted to lift her limbs, to push herself upright, her muscles screamed in protest. Her left eye was throbbing, sure to rise in purple and blue with the morning light.

She remembered what she had promised, what deal she had made. It was hard to believe that she had loved Marco once, had thought that he could commander all of her and Jude's dreams, bring them to the moon on a rocket ship. She had wished on a star for liberation from the system, and now here she was, alone with what she had desired— imprisoned by her own foolish hopes.

Everything had shifted when Jude stopped speaking. He had swallowed his voice the evening he lost his innocence, the night he trailed the crew down the block, around the corner and into the alleyway. Her legs had worked then. She had watched them kick furiously, over and over again, seemingly unrelated to her torso, moving of their own accord. She saw them connect with the flesh of the crumpled boy's neck, fall on his ribs and the arms held over his face. She spotted Damien's encouraging smile across the swarming circle, watched Joe spark his cigarette and laugh. She sought Marco's teardrop eyes, his red lips stretched in a sneer, matching the stain on the asphalt, spreading below the body beneath their feet.

When she caught Jude's silhouette under the streetlight, disbelief dancing across his features, mouth choking on a silent scream, she knew that she had gone too far, had crossed the metaphorical line in the sand of their salvation.

She spent hours, days, weeks, months, justifying her actions, making promises that she couldn't keep, kissing his cheeks with a comfort that she could no longer provide, but her brother had never come back to her. Her soul had dissolved with his will to engage, but she protected the shell of his spirit with abandon. In their waking moments, she denied the psychological departure; maintaining animated conversation as though he might answer her at any moment, giggle at her jokes, lean against her with love.

Darkness didn't allow for such self-depreciating lies.

She had bought him one week. Seven days of comparative security, and then even she could no longer protect him.

He'd be the perfect cook Marco pledged; his nimble fingers and vacant countenance sealed the resume. Never mind that Joe had exploded the kitchen of their last home, causing them all to flee like rats sensing a hurricane, single-file onto the deserted streets. Only Tia hadn't made it out in time, her life curling above them in a plume of angry smoke, clogging their throats and burning their eyes. She made them weep involuntarily, and they made her disappear with a lack of acknowledgement.

"Let's go," Marco directed, and they had all followed, leaving Callie to ponder the import of her own survival. But he had shielded her then, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and hooking his finger through the loop of her jeans until she felt rooted to his side, like an indispensible part of him.

They sprawled out on the beach that night, Jude curled close enough to touch, a continent away. The stars had lulled her to sleep then too. The image of Marco beaming down at her was printed on the back of her eyes, and it looked as though he were crying over her slumbering frame, over the things that were to come.

She had one week to make it right.


	3. Chapter 3

The following day found Callie back on the streets with Damien, who hadn't said a word about the ugly bruises that mottled her body and masked her expression. She was on surveillance. Neither one admitted that her appearance would probably drive away the customers, just like neither one could afford to arrive home empty-handed.

When the moon was the only light left in the sky, they walked the curb in companionable peace, heading to the corner shop like they did every evening. Callie dropped her quarters in the plastic jar, smiling at the elderly man behind the counter, who deposited an anime book into her open arms without request. This too was custom. They waited for the lecture that they knew was coming, for the sermon that the hardened pair would only stand to hear from this disgruntled gentleman, this man whom they had come to privately love.

Sometimes he slipped GED pamphlets into the magazines she bought for Jude, but most of the time he was more obvious.

She must have forgotten the state of her features, because the pregnant stare that answered her smile was paralyzing. His knobby fingers grasped her chin softly, examining the swollen lid of her eye, but it was his voice that knocked the wind out of her.

"Are you ready to get out yet, sweetheart?"

It only took a moment for Callie to regain her balance, to shove his hands away from the parts of her that still felt alive, to close the door on his message.

Damien grabbed the novel she had left behind in her hurry, wagging it in the face of their friend with threatening authority. "Back off, Gramps."

She was almost a full block ahead of him before Damien caught up, tossing the comic and slowing to a walk alongside her. They traveled a mile in silence before he spoke.

"Cal, there's somethin' else I didn't tell you, somethin' I overheard. Maybe old man got a point."

She turned to confront him now, saw the earnestness skate on his childish face, contrasting with the ink that snaked around the skin of his arms, wove its way across his chest and marked him as one of their own, forever.

"What makes you think that I can leave any more than you can?" Her tongue was bitterly flippant, but her heart begged him for an honest answer, for a key out of their shared confinement.

"Marco told Joe he about done with Crystal. Say he can only sell a gram once, but he can sell _you_ over and over again. Shits changin', Cal. I ain't gonna pretend it'll be OK this time."

When their eyes met, it was Tia's ghost that danced in the reflection. Callie knew that Damien would never forgive himself for his girlfriend's death, or for what had led up to it.

There was nothing to say. Even their sadness was routine.

She had only six days now, and a promise to follow through on tomorrow.

**A/N: Hi everyone! So I made a few changes to the first two chapters, hopefully improvements, and I'm excited about where this story is taking me. I'm really enjoying playing with a different spin on the characters, but, don't worry, they are going to find their way to the Fosters soon! Thank you so much for reading- if you have a moment, will you leave me some feedback? Even if you don't like the story, could you tell me why? I am really trying to push myself out of my comfort zone as a writer! Thanks again! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Stef closed her cell and plopped down at the kitchen table with a heavy sigh, tapping her fingers aimlessly over the wood grain with one hand and unbuttoning the collar of her uniform with the other. She couldn't remember the last time that she had spoken to Edward, and to hear from him now, after all of these years; his sober request had thrown her for a loop. Of course, it wasn't surprising, that he had called her instead of his grandson, even though they were both on the force, even though they had been divorced for over a decade. She had fallen fiercely in love with the elderly man the moment that Mike had introduced them. He must be nearing 90 now, and was, apparently, still as stubborn as ever.

Edward Foster had been proudly running his own corner stand on the streets of San Ysidro for over 50 years, and no one could convince the old bat to retire. The boulevard had changed since he launched the moderate business, and he had watched the home he cherished transform into a perilous site with a mixture of defiance and pity. In spite of Mike referring to him as ostentatious, urging his grandfather to leave the neighborhood for his "own goddamn sake," Edward felt that he could make an honest difference in the ravaged community, felt a sincere obligation tug at the strings of his heart with every sunrise. He was the sole sentinel, after all. Those before him had closed their doors when the violence erupted, had rolled away when the rivals staked their turfs and relative security evaporated. He alone had remained, and Stef had always respected him for that.

He had pleaded with her like a determined defense-attorney today, said that there was surely something she could do to support the youngsters who frequented his shop, especially the young woman who had recently turned up beaten beyond recognition. He could sense it like the weather in his knees, he promised, this girl was in serious trouble.

When Stef's phone beeped a moment later, she already knew what she would find. Downloading the image from Edward promptly, she pressed her fingers to her aching temples and wondered what she could possibly tell Lena, how she would even begin to follow through on the promise that she had just made.

A grainy photograph filled her small screen suddenly, and it was the luminous brown eyes that caught her attention first. They pierced through the lens of the camera that was permanently perched on Edward's kiosk, and it was easy to see why the man wanted her to help. The teen in focus looked like a distressed animal, one who was backed into a corner and all the more dangerous because of it. The girl's gaze reminded Stef of the dispirited puppy she had discovered as a child; the dog had fallen and become lodged in an egress window, shattering the bone of its leg in the process. When she bent down in innocence, attempted to lift the creature to safety, it had mauled her with the ferocity of its fear. She had received 17 stitches and an early, unforgettable lesson in assisting victims.

This girl was clad in red, a clear indication of her affiliation, although it appeared as if the clothes on her back might be all that she owned. The colors were worn, and there were small holes along the seams of her shirt. She couldn't be more than 15.

_Just what, exactly, did Edward expect her to accomplish? _

_Why had she agreed? _

Stef was so engrossed in the picture, so rattled by the words that the old man had spoken, that she didn't hear her wife approaching. As Lena's soft curls fell around her face and the scent of vanilla crowded the air, Stef jumped guiltily. Turning swiftly in her seat, she kissed her spouse in greeting.

"Who is that?" Lena questioned, pointing to the portrait in the cop's palm.

"MOMS, JESUS IS BEING MEAN TO ME AGAIN, AND…" Mariana skidded into the sunny kitchen, indignation dancing on her pretty features, "…AND HE FAILED HIS MATH TEST TODAY!"

The 14 year old smirked with unbecoming contempt as her twin trailed into the room behind her, backpack hanging from his extended arm. Swinging it towards his sister with malice, Jesus smiled when the bag struck Mariana's legs and stomach with a satisfying wallop. He wasted no time in retorting, "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO RAT ON ME? WHY DON'T YOU JUST SHUT UP, FOR ONCE?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Stef interrupted, grateful for the sudden distraction. She was between the children before Mariana could catch her breath or enact revenge.

Lena seized the offending knapsack from Jesus and placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him away from the altercation and into the living room with one quick motion. As she seated their high-strung son onto the couch with a command to complete his homework, the woman couldn't help but feel a tug of consternation. _Was her wife hiding something? Who was that young woman in the photograph, and why did her heart quicken at the image?_

She made dinner in haste, and, although Stef never faltered, setting the table with ease and programming the coffee for tomorrow, Lena sensed that her partner was elsewhere. They ate in sensible silence, the twins subdued by their previous argument; Stef swirled the fork around her pasta absentmindedly.

When the front door slammed and Brandon's face appeared in the hallway, it was Lena who appreciated the diversion.

"Hi, honey. How was Mike's?" She questioned kindly, patting the seat beside her at the table.

"Hey," the young man smiled in response, kissing each of his mothers' cheeks before settling into the appointed chair. "Dad's good. He's going to take me to my piano audition next week, for the scholarship. What's for dinner?"

"Didn't you just eat?" Stef snapped out of her daze to beam at their eldest child, who was already taking a plate out of the pile and loading it with Alfredo.

"There's always room for Mama's cooking!" Jesus piped up eagerly, impishly grinning like he had as a boy, before he and his sibling were formally adopted; he had been forever trying to wiggle his way out of trouble.

Lena rewarded him with a tender pat on the arm, her expression softening in approval. Mariana rolled her eyes and kicked her foot under the table, smirking at her brown-nosing brother.

"OUCH," Stef hissed in surprise, "_MARIANA_. What was that for?"

Hours later, when the house was finally quiet and all three of their children were slumbering, Stef slipped into bed beside Lena. The brunette closed her book and removed her reading glasses, shifting to face her spouse.

"Edward called," Stef admitted before Lena had the chance to ask. "He needs us to do him a favor…"


	5. Chapter 5

Edward was startled to spot Callie draw near his stand not long after he ended his call, not that he was familiar enough to label her as such; the teen had never revealed her name, or any other identifying characteristic, actually. Before she rounded the corner and came into full view, Edward scribbled a quick note onto his aged legal pad and ripped out the paper, folding and pressing it prudently into the binding of the newest _Superman_. He was thankful that Stef had agreed to assist him, although, deep down, he had always known that she would. She never coddled the old man the way that his own child did, and she had never mocked or condescended the choices that he made, unlike his grandson. It didn't matter to Edward that she left Mike all those years ago, and it didn't matter that she was with Lena now. He loved her like the biological daughter he never had, and Stephanie Adams-Foster would always be family.

He was unsettled, however, by the time of Callie's arrival. He never saw the girl before sundown, and, come to think of it, he had never encountered her alone either. She was always with the lanky brown boy, the one who had rebuked Edward the evening prior. His words hadn't fazed the elderly gentleman, really. Compared to the other hoodlums who he regularly served, the pair was exceedingly tame. Edward suffered only pity for the circumstances that the adolescents had evidently fallen prey to, although he wasn't about to fool himself into believing that they were entirely benign. No one in these neighborhood houses could cast the first stone; that was a divine truth. They were a village made of glass.

He had often wondered what interest the girl took in the juvenile cartoons that she habitually purchased, but it was so endearing to witness someone on these streets attempting edification that he hadn't wished to gamble on embarrassing her.

There was something about today, though, something about the schedule and the apprehensive gait of the teen that raised the red flags of Edward's intuition. This sense, coupled with her solitary presence and Stef's singular vow, still ringing in his ears, encouraged the old man to pursue the issue at once.

As Callie deposited her change robotically, Edward held the superhero comic to his caved chest possessively, seeking the adolescent's gaze by withholding.

"There's a twist in this one." His voice broke through the stillness, "Page 57."

She met his eyes now, but her lips did not part in sociable conversation. _What did he want? _The expectation that she perceived in his penetrating reflection was heavily disquieting. _How dare he demand anything of her? _She was already hollow, had given away every piece of herself that was valuable.

When the sun tickled her cheeks with deceitful cheer on the morning she had dubbed "Promise Day," Callie woke numb at the thought of what awaited her in the evening hours. She had come to Edward's stand early because she might never be able to return, depending on what transpired after nightfall; she might never be able to buy Jude a small token of her affection again. Preoccupied only with these possibilities, Callie had not counted on making small talk. _Why did this irritating old man always rattle her nerves when her guard was down? Why did he even care? Was this some sort of game for him, some sick form of satisfaction and diversion?_

She was too tired to even care anymore. "It's not for me. It's for my brother. He's eleven." She answered impatiently, casting her eyes downward once more and stretching her hands over the counter for the desired object.

Edward held the pages out of her eager grasp a moment longer, skirting the lines of their long-established boundaries. "Which one is his favorite?"

The old man understood that he was pushing his luck with the edgy girl. Palpable tension thickened the air around them both. He actually wasn't sure why he felt the need to know, but more than mere curiosity burned within him nonetheless;_ wasn't motive usually inconsequential in this population, anyway? _

Exasperated and growing angry, Callie tossed her head with a spark of hostility. "I don't know," she snapped. "I'm not even sure if he can read." She stared at Edward with forceful finality now, silently seething, challenging him with the power of her pained expression.

Stunned by the news that he had unwittingly uncovered, Edward submitted the comic softly, lost in the fresh swirl of questions and suspicions that circulated his thoughts. _If the girl was this broken, what must her brother look like? _

Unexpectedly crushed by the weight of the cold cruelty around them, he almost didn't notice that Callie was leaving. "Page 57," he cried meekly behind her retreating figure, although he couldn't be certain that she heard him at all.

When the teen was a few blocks away, she flipped to the spot that Edward had mentioned, barely catching the folded paper as it fluttered out of its fastening. Opening it with caution, as though it might contain Anthrax or surprise confetti, Callie found only a few words scrawled across the yellow lines:

_Stephanie Adams-Foster_

_(645) 555-0452_

Releasing a despondent sigh, she turned the sheet over in her hands, searching for an additional clue, anything that might convey a meaning in the message. When she learned nothing, she felt compelled to tear the paper to shreds in frustration. Throwing it haphazardly into the back pocket of her faded skinny jeans instead, Callie wandered the two miles home. She struggled to put the old man out of her mind with each forward step, to focus on her plans for twilight and for what would happen to Jude in the event that she failed. Dismissively, she reminded herself that there wasn't time to waste on mysterious codes from lonely, misguided old men.

Far away from the screeching tires and the bellowing smoke of Callie's world, however, Stephanie Foster was eating dinner with her family, coiling pasta around her plate and picturing a young girl with haunting amber eyes.

**A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for your kind reviews, follows, and favorites! This is kind of a filler chapter, I know, but I'm really excited for what is coming up. Shit is going to HIT THE FAN. Lol :) Thank you again for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Callie shoved the ski mask into her backpack and zipped it shut, pivoting to confront Jude once more.

"Do you remember the plan?" She questioned her brother, flooding with relief when he nodded in composed affirmation. "Good." She sat beside him and placed a hand on his knee, although it was hers that was bouncing now. Her eyes darted around the sparse room repeatedly, as though she were trying to memorize the space, to secure the walls in her absence.

"It won't be necessary," she added for his sake, as well as her own. "I'll be back by morning to give Marco the money." She lowered her voice in conspiracy and tightened her grasp, hoping to reassure the boy with her contact. "Then you and I will be on our own again, baby, the way it should have been all along." Sighing acutely, Callie rose and swung the bag onto her shoulders, kissing Jude on the forehand when she was ready. "I love you," the teen whispered. Then she was gone.

She tried not to count the fears that pranced like mad sheep in her head, concentrating instead on the lights of her town, fading into the distance. She watched the sun sink towards the horizon through the tinted windows of the public transport, scanning the evolving landscape until the familiar building loomed into view. Yanking the chain and moving to the nearest exit, she couldn't help but recall the first time that she had come here. It didn't seem right that the brick was unscathed, that the neon bulbs still blinked. So much had changed for Callie.

_Marco reached for Callie's hand as they descended the steps of the bus, held it as they crossed the quiet street towards the pharmacy, Jude sprinting ahead and giggling._

"_You're a rotten egg! You're BOTH rotten eggs!" The nine year-old taunted his sister and her new friend cheerfully upon reaching the sidewalk, overjoyed by the day's excursion. It wasn't that Callie usually left him out; in fact, the opposite was true. Simply avoiding their foster parents' home was cause for mutual celebration, but Jude hadn't left San Ysidro since they entered the system as wards of the state, and it had been three long years since they lost their mother, since their father went to prison for her murder. _

_They had been shuffled from house to house since then, from one form of abuse to another, but Callie had always shielded the boy, and Jude learned early on to place all of his faith in her guidance. She was thirteen now, and ever since she met Marco, living on their own was all that Callie could talk about. She lulled him to sleep at night with her stories, weaving their future with her words, painting a picture of her dreams until he was drowsy with the possibilities._

"_He loves me," she whispered into the darkness one night, and the glow of her eyes had eclipsed the moon. The next morning they were gone. A report had been written, but no one ever began searching, and just like that the siblings had vanished._

Callie tried to shake the recollection as she approached, attempted to cope with the task at hand. _Was she being as naïve as she was on that first trip, when Marco had suddenly developed a cough and purchased medicine in bulk, only to recover the moment they returned to the streets? What did she think that he was doing? What lies had she fed herself? Even then, she should have known better._

She focused on the erratic thud of her heart, the hot adrenaline that throbbed in her ears and behind her eyes.

_This wasn't then. It was now. _

Callie slunk around the rear of the building, cloaked by the cover of shadows.

_She was older, wiser. _

Crouching quickly, she snuck a hand into her bag, fingered the cold metal of her resolve. Marco had slipped it to her in passing the night before, and an explanation had not been required.

_There was no hope left to lose anymore. _

She fumbled with the mask, gliding it over her cap of messy curls.

_Did that make her better off?_

Leaving her bag on the wet grass, she stole around the bend to the entrance. Swallowing what remained of her morals in one last, shaky breath, Callie kicked the glass door open and stepped inside. She raised her arm with a confidence that she did not possess.

"THIS IS A ROBBERY." Marco's words came rushing back to Callie now, tumbled off of her own tongue with no premeditation. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, ALL OF YOU, RIGHT NOW, OR I WILL BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT."

**A/N: Thank you again to those of you who have been reading and reviewing; your feedback means the world to me! Callie and Stef will meet in the next chapter... but how? :) **


	7. Chapter 7

_This was not one of Marco's stories. _

Callie wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, to tap her heels together and find herself seated at the scarred kitchen table once more, giggling at Joe's dramatic reenactment and drinking in the sound of Marco's unruffled narration in the aftermath of one of their exploits. She longed for the predictable laughter, for the giddy cheer that blanketed the air around her; she was safe and her own hands were clean, even if her shelter was an offspring of their violence. There is no place like home.

_Except her home hadn't ever been truly safe, had it?_

Instead of being comforted by the security of her illusions, Callie found herself sweating in the heat of her current reality, trying hard not to cry. _Nothing was going like it was supposed to have gone. None of this should be happening._

She didn't know how much time had passed, but at least she was alone now. Her treasure was bundled neatly beside her on the pharmacy floor, a bag full of cash and Sudafed; it was everything that she promised Marco and more.

She had dismissed the few, stunned costumers the moment that the cops arrived, watched them stagger away as her world went up in hazy bursts of red and blue. It had never been about them. _It had always been about Jude, yet all that she had given him was tragedy, served like her head on a platter. _

She might as well be in prison. There was no escaping the frenzied flashes enclosing her, no avoiding the tone in the loudspeaker now.

"**Ma'am. We have you surrounded. You did the right thing, letting everyone go. I need you to stay calm now. Put the weapon down and proceed to the door with your hands in the air."**

When no stir from within was detected, the man resumed. **"Young lady, I want to help you. It seems to me that you could use a little help right now. This can be easy, or it can be difficult—that's up to you."** He paused long enough for the girl to attempt a response, but only the wind whispered. Running a calloused palm through his cropped hair with agitation, the detective contemplated how far he was willing to push his luck in this case. The teen didn't appear excessively dangerous, considering how quickly she had released the potential hostages and how instinctively she had cowered when he raised the microphone. _Then again, how cute and cuddly could a girl with a loaded gun be? Is she safe to approach? _He watched her through the windows, night giving his eyes the advantage. She was still slumped against the counter under the florescent lights, her fingers curled tightly around the revolver and her eyes fixed blankly on the marble tiles beneath her feet. He decided to alter his tactic.

"**Listen, there's gotta be some paper in there, behind the counter. I need you to write down your name, maybe your phone number or address. I'm sure that there's someone who's looking for you. Let me call your parents." **The girl's head snapped up at the words, but the cop couldn't read her expression. It was progress at last, so he persisted, treading carefully. **"You can slide it under the door. I'll have someone get it, but they won't come in, OK? You just need to put down the gun and slide the paper under the door."**

Time seemed frozen for Callie, although she could hear the man on the amplifier continue to issue assurances, to persuade her to betray her identity or to kindly step from one form of captivity to another. _Wasn't that all that her life had become, really, since her mother died? The foster system and Marco and now this—wasn't it just a series of connected cells, a penitentiary of wasted years and mislaid ambitions? _

_How absolutely fitting that this outsider believes her mother can save her now, thinks that there might be anything left to save. What self could she possibly claim: Stray? Drug dealer? Gangster? Sister? Who or what was Callie Jacob other than a void of black, soul-sucking misery? She should wear a sign: "Beware the Wretched."_

While her mind proceeded to reel and her future unraveled, Callie fumbled in her back pocket with one hand, unearthing a small folded paper from the recess. A seed was planted, the idea sprouting in her mind and briefly blossoming. _Maybe she could be Stephanie Adams-Foster. The woman must possess what the police assume Callie does: a family who loves her, someone who would investigate if she went missing. Stephanie must have hope in her life, whereas Callie had none but to trust this theory and become her. Stranger things had happened. At the very least, she would be buying some time—time that Jude would need once he realized that she was not coming home, once he understood that Plan B was in motion. _

The teen slunk forward and then straightened quickly, sliding to the door and back again before she could analyze the decision. She felt suddenly and peculiarly empty, as if the paper had been an anchor that Callie wasn't aware she was weighted to; now she was floating frantically. The waves of blinking beams and the music of muffled sirens overturned her senses and tossed her stomach queasily. _There was nothing left to do but wait. _

And it didn't take long for the police to register her movements, for the detective to dispatch a man and retrieve her message. When it finally reached him, confusion snatched his voice and furrowed his brow. A similar expression was etched on the features of his colleagues. _What the hell?_

Almost thirty minutes passed before Stef arrived on the scene, having been roused out of sleep by the report of her impersonation. She had pulled on her jeans and fastened her bra under the pajama shirt in haste, throwing on tennis shoes before grabbing her badge and gun. Lena had protested, leaning anxiously out of the covers and encircling her wife's wrist with solemnity; the guilt that had coursed through Stef at the contact was almost enough to convince her to crawl back.

She tugged at the bulletproof vest now, brushing off the helpful hands of her coworkers and nodding at the lead detective's instruction. It wasn't until she pushed the door open and stepped inside that she recognized the brown eyes behind the gun. The weapon was aimed at her chest, but the fist that seized it was shaking, and the adolescent-perp was crouching, knees drawn up to her chin. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery, but her stare was unabashedly unwavering; the look at once beheld both an unsettling fear and an insolent hostility.

The air flew from Stef's lungs in one fell swoop, and her heart softly fluttered; the two women frowned at one another in wonder. _It was Lena who believed in fate, not her. She had lost her faith long ago._

"Who are you? Why did you come in here?" Callie demanded, interrupting the elder's thoughts.

Stef began to lower her right arm gently, "I'd like to reach for my ID, to show you who I am. Can I do that, please?" Her speech was sweet, steady and collected, and Callie felt a sense of peacefulness wash over her at the sound of it.

She nodded agreeably and relaxed her grip on the aluminum handle, resting her elbow on her knee but sustaining a sharp focus on her target.

Stef pulled her badge out of her pocket and bent down on the ground, sliding the leather across the short distance between her and Callie; she raised her limbs again, facing her palms towards the ceiling. She cautiously scrutinized the girl, watched as she flipped the cover open to reveal a name.

_Stephanie Adams-Foster, San Diego PD. _

The badge sparkled on the granite like it was made of diamonds, tiny gems that shattered Callie's heart and cut into the glass of her soul.

Before she could repress the gesture, her free hand flew to her mouth and she was gagging, sputtering for air.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. She impersonated a police officer? This was the woman that was supposed to help her? Oh God, what had she done? Maybe the man had been right—only her mother could save her now._

"I'm sorry," the teen finally choked, releasing her eyes from the piercing blue gaze that arrested them. "I didn't mean to involve you."

_She has people who love her. She has something that you will never have. _Briefly, Callie imagined barefooted children racing to greet their mother; she saw family dinners and pick-up basketball games and bonfires on the beach. _Like the patrons before her, this woman had a life that Callie couldn't bear to dismantle just because her own was in shambles. She could not, would not, be responsible for another orphaned child. _

Dizziness passed over the teen like a panic attack. _Were the lights flickering, or was that only her imagination?_

Before she could change her mind or lose her nerve, Callie turned the gun slowly in her hands. When she felt the barrel tip, cold against her temple, she closed her eyes and hissed, "Please find Jude, before it's too late. Tell him that I'm sorry too."

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay. I had major writers block, and life has been super busy. I tried to make it longer to make up for my procrastination, and I sincerely hope that I haven't lost any readers. I am also not a policewoman, so I'm not sure how accurate my descriptions are... Overall, I'm not feeling super confident about this chapter, so feedback would be MUCH appreciated! Also, don't worry, this is not a deathfic :) Thank you all for sticking with me! **


	8. Chapter 8

"Whoa there, young lady, I need you to think about what you're doing." With the gun no longer trained on her chest, Stef felt secure enough to drop her arms, to slip directly in front of the girl whose eyes were squeezed rigidly shut and whose body was slightly rocking with the force of unspoken emotion. "I can't help you find Jude unless I have more information. Can you do that for me, give me some information?"

A barely perceptible bob of the head was her answer. Callie had lost her battle, and the tears flowed freely down her cheeks now. She kept her eyes closed and her grasp firm, praying to a God that she wasn't sure existed. _Please help us. Please help us. Please help me. I'm sorry. _

The cop cleared her throat and patiently tried again, louder this time. "Where are you from?"

The air rushed from Callie's lips like a feeble hiss. "San Ysidro." There was only a moment's hesitation before she added, "We're both from San Ysidro."

The blonde nodded in quiet comprehension, even though she knew that the gesture would go unseen. The girl seemed to have an easier time conversing when her eyes were closed, and, at this point, it didn't seem productive or necessary to force her into behaving otherwise. It was important to move slowly, to remain as nonthreatening as possible.

"And Jude is your boyfriend?" Stef prodded lightly, recalling the tall boy that she had seen accompany Callie on the camera footage from Edward's kiosk. But the question only appeared to unravel the girl further. At the mention of a boyfriend, small tremors began to rack the teen's frame, causing the revolver in her clutch to dance as though death was whispering in her ear, knocking at her nerves, tempting her to welcome him like she had always done before. _Why had she never realized that the reaper wore Marco's face? Who was to blame for how long it had taken? _

Every wrong step and missed turn had led her to this door. Callie had kicked it down like the devil was chasing her because, of course, he was. Yet she couldn't deny, as angelic as her intentions usually were, that she had fallen from grace a long time ago too. She had purposely plugged her ears to block out the evil around her, the darkness that was blossoming inside her. So, she wouldn't blame God if he wasn't listening either, but it didn't stop her from pleading. _I don't want to die now, or like this. I'll change, I promise. I'm sorry. Please… _

"Look, sweetie, not only am I a cop, but I am also a mom. And, if any of my children were hurting as much as you are right now, I would hold them tight until the world stopped spinning. I would help them sort through their problems and find a solution. I know that I'm not your mother, but you called me for a reason. _I'm here for a reason_." Stef paused to take note of the girl's reaction. She had stopped her rocking, which the policewoman interpreted as a green light. "Do you know why?" She pushed gently, "Because I think that I do."

When Callie opened her eyes, the blonde's response was physical, reflexive. Her features softened at the contact, and she smiled warmly at the adolescent, whose own fires seemed to have briefly tempered.

For her part, Callie kept her gaze locked on the woman who was curled Indian-style before her, zeroing in on the blue of her eyes instead of the blue of her uniform, which was too like a nightmare to be comforting. In fact, it was too like reality. Callie didn't have to glance out the window to know that, beyond, it was a sea of the same shade. But here was an island, an offer to stand in the sands of truth instead of drown in confusion, remorse and despair. She was honestly intrigued, and more than grateful for the diversion. _Why did the old man give her this cop's number? Was it a plot against her or an attempt to save her? What might Stephanie Adams-Foster know that she didn't? Most significantly, would she live long enough for any of it to matter?_

**A/N: So, to be honest, I had lost my inspiration for this story until yesterday, when I got the nicest review. So, even though it's short, this is for you! Thank you to everyone who is still reading :)**_  
><em>


	9. Chapter 9

_It was cold downstairs._ Lena stumbled in the darkness towards the front door, sliding into Mariana's pink bunny slippers and gripping the banister for balance. She had given up on sleep not long after Stef left, her stomach involuntarily clenching each time that she rolled into the empty space; she had finally resolved to wait for her wife in the comfort of the kitchen, a place better suited for the under-appreciated, albeit unproductive, art of synchronized pacing and fretting. Wrapping her robe more securely against her chest, Lena clicked on the stove, roaming the adjacent drawers in search of chamomile tea. She performed robotically, quietly chiding herself for monitoring the microwave clock as closely as she would a naughty toddler, for expecting something to happen suddenly. It was 1:05 AM. The kids were tucked in bed; the entire neighborhood was slumbering. Stef had driven away almost two hours ago, and there was no way of predicting how long she'd be. Lena sighed, clutching the steaming mug and bringing it cautiously to her lips. The moon was casting its yellow light softly against the hardwood, muting the rough edges of reality. Gazing at the gnarled tree in the backyard, the branches clouded by her own silhouette, Lena couldn't help but sense that there was _something_ on the horizon; the notion that had been progressively sprawling from the pit of her stomach began to take a firm root in her mind.

Turning swiftly from the window, she strode towards the small TV tucked under the corner cabinet, the one with rabbit ears and old-fashioned knobs that she had begged Stef to exclude from the kitchen decor. _It looks like something out of a bachelor pad in the 1950s, _Lena had remarked, giggling in spite of her aversion. She wouldn't necessarily admit it outright, but the set did provide a diversion when she needed it, as she so desperately did now. She flicked the screen on, futzing with the dials until she found a local news station with reception. _Everything is fine_, she assured herself. _There is nothing to do but wait._

000

Edward Foster couldn't sleep. He settled into the worn recliner, flicking his wrist slightly and watching the deep amber whiskey swirl around the ice in his glass. He had been flipping through the channels aimlessly for over an hour, but he stopped abruptly when the sound of sirens erupted from his speakers.

"**This is LIVE, **_**Breaking News**_**, reporting from the San Diego pharmacy on 32****nd**** and Main, where there appears to be an ongoing standoff between the area police and an armed female assailant. Witnesses claim the teenage suspect was attempting to rob the establishment minutes prior to closing. We do not have many details other than that at this point, but we have received confirmation that a local officer, one Stephanie Adams-Foster, is inside the building now. It's uncertain whether or not the…"**

The old man sprang up as if he were fifty years younger. He knew who was in that store with his granddaughter. _He knew._ Whatever was transpiring within was undeniably his fault and his responsibility to fix. Edward hobbled to the door where his cane was waiting and donned his leather fedora hastily, locking the heavy door behind him.

000

Callie's curiosity manifested itself as a quick-burning anger, as a conditioned repression of hope. She drew her knee up and rested her elbow on it, lowering the gun from her temple unconsciously. "Why do I think that you're here, _Stephanie Adams-Foster_? You're here because some crazy old coot at the corner shop gave me your number, maybe to set me up. You're here because that damn cop on a megaphone asked for my mother's name, but the dead don't speak, so I gave him yours. You're here, and you shouldn't be." The teen stared at Stef sadly, and her eyes were windows into a soul devoid of faith but not compassion. "Go home," she finished with a sigh, her annoyance having dissipated as rapidly as it arrived, leaving her only exhausted, depleted.

Although she was busy measuring the distance between herself and the revolver, judging patterns of physical movement, determining the girl's psychological state, and calculating when it was most appropriate to make a move for the weapon, the motivation behind Callie's message was not lost on Stef. And it was kind of sweet, in an obviously complicated respect, that the teen felt guilty for involving her.

"I'm not going anywhere. You asked me to find Jude, and I don't take favors lightly." The blonde sought Callie's reflection, but the adolescent had closed her eyes again. Thick fingers of blame had wrapped themselves around her throat; it was shameful enough to have embroiled this stranger, but the reminder of how much she hurt Jude choked all of the air from her lungs. _How was she ever going to save him now? Could she trust this woman, this cop, enough to reveal where he was hiding? What would happen if he wasn't there, if someone caught him trying to leave the house? Could Marco already know that she had failed? That she was in here talking to a cop? Did he think that she was going to snitch? What would he do to Jude then? _Callie felt her heart flutter as each terrible fate unfurled, until an endless span of predicted misfortune was all that flocked through her mind.

"Plus, you haven't even heard my side of the story yet," Stef continued, pulling the girl reluctantly back into the present. "That 'crazy old coot' is my grandfather, and he told me about you too."

"He doesn't know anything about me," Callie responded automatically. "Why?"

Noting that teen had all but forgotten about the pistol in her palm, which was now resting on her folded thigh, Stef let out a teasing chuckle, "Ah, such a typical teenage response. You may not be as unique as you think, my dear, and that's not an insult in the slightest." She winked at the bemused adolescent, who accepted the sincerity of her expression, and then adjusted her tone to fit the severity of the situation. "He knew that you were in trouble, which, I think, is currently indisputable." She paused long enough for them to jointly acknowledge the array of red and blue that persistently encircled the edifice. "He said that you'd gotten ruffed up recently." The policewoman gently nodded her head to indicate Callie's prominent bruises, the green-and-yellow streak across one cheek. Stef longed to reach out in consolation, to offer some form of solace, but she had a job to do first. "He also said that you were selling drugs, probably methamphetamines, and that he was sure that it wasn't a choice. Now, I think it's about time that you start talking."

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the incredible reviews on the last chapter. I really appreciate it! I work so many hours during the winter that I barely have time to do what I love; when I get your comments, it makes me want to dedicate all my free time to writing :) Happy holidays, everyone!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Thank you to those who have stuck with me and have written lovely reviews! I appreciate you more than words can express! I had off of work yesterday and today (hallelujah for -35 temps in WI), so I actually had time to write! I decided to include a lengthy recap in the beginning of this chapter because someone mentioned that they could never remember what happened previously, due to my lag in updates. Actually, they were a real prick about it and said that my story was a waste of time, but, since I do admittedly take forever to post a new chapter, I think that a recap is a good idea! Feel free to skip it! I summarized chapters 1-9 as briefly as possible (and that is not my strong suit, clearly); but, in the future, I will only recap the chapter before, so it won't be so long, I promise! As usual, I would LOVE your feedback, positive or _constructively_ negative! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

**Recap: **This is an AU. Callie is 15, and Jude is 11. They grew up poor in San Ysidro, CA. Their mother died and their father went to prison five years ago, following the same circumstances described in the show. The siblings were immediately placed into foster care, together, where they experienced both neglect and abuse from multiple families. Two years ago, when she was 13, Callie met a young man named Marco; he made her feel special, and he promised her and Jude their freedom. She fell head over heels for him. The siblings ran from foster care to live with Marco, and no one looked very hard to find them. Since she was young and naïve, Callie ignored the signs that Marco was not who he appeared to be. He is a local gang leader who oversees the making and selling of methamphetamines; he is also involved in sex trafficking and prostitution, among other crimes. Joe and Damien are prominent gang members as well. Joe is Marco's right-hand man, but Damien is a friend to Callie and Jude. Callie was initiated into the gang when she was 13. She participated in an attack, and Jude witnessed it. He has been mute ever since. Callie feels tremendous guilt. She has slowly distanced herself from Marco over the past two years, and she has definitely lost her naivety along the way, having grown edgier and harder with time. She tries to protect her brother as much as possible, but she is growing increasingly helpless. She has kept Jude out of the kitchen, where the meth is made, but, as he gets older, she is losing control over what happens to him. Marco wants him to start contributing immediately. Callie knows just how unsafe the kitchen is because Joe exploded their last home and killed Tia, who was Damien's girlfriend. It was Damien who warned Callie that he overheard Marco and Joe talking about putting Jude in the kitchen and using Callie for prostitution instead of for pushing drugs on the street. Marco has all but lost interest in Callie and seems to sense that she is only pretending to love him for her own protection as well. When Callie confronts Marco about Damien's warning, she is severely beaten. However, they did strike a deal, which involves Callie committing a robbery at an out-of-town pharmacy in exchange for Jude's short-term safety. She knows that she can't trust Marco to be 100% sincere, but she agrees, and, the night before, Marco gives her a gun to use for the crime. Callie establishes a secret Plan A and Plan B with Jude; it's time for them to be on their own again. Plan A involves temporarily trusting Marco, handing over the money/drugs, and then running away together as soon as the opportunity arises. Plan B will be set in motion if Callie doesn't return, and it involves Jude leaving the house and hiding in a pre-determined location to wait for his sister. Plan B is a more dangerous option, since Marco is more likely to come after them if they have his money, etc. On the morning of the day of the robbery, Callie stops by the local corner kiosk, which is run by a man named Edward Foster. He is Mike's grandfather, and he is very close with the family; he and Stef have a bond that was not broken by her and Mike's divorce. Callie is a regular costumer at his shop, where she purchases comic books for Jude with what little money she has. Edward is a good man who feels connected to his community and wants to help the local youth. He slips Stef's phone number into the comic that Callie buys that morning, thinking that his granddaughter might be able to help the adolescent. Callie finds the note and puts it in her pocket, not thinking much of it. That night, she takes the bus to San Diego, where the pharmacy is located. She puts on a ski mask, grabs the gun, and kicks open the door. When her plan is fouled and the police show up, Callie feels trapped and doesn't want to give her own name; she tells them that she is Stephanie Adams-Foster because it's the only thing that she can think to do in the moment. The cops recognize the name that Callie provides and call Stef, who shows up on the scene. She is fitted with a bulletproof vest and sent into the building, where Callie is surrounded and alone. When the girl realizes that she has impulsively impersonated a cop and a mother, she feels even more guilty and trapped than before. In a moment of weakness and self-pity, she turns the gun on herself, asking the older woman to find Jude. However, Stef is able to distract her with conversation and, eventually, Callie lowers the weapon. Stef describes her connection to Edward and tells Callie that she wants to help her. Stef also promises to try to find Jude, but Callie has not yet revealed their relationship, nor has she confessed to where he is hiding. Stef and Callie's conversation ends with the cop admitting what she knows about the teen (as revealed by Edward) and demanding an explanation from Callie. Meanwhile, both Lena and Edward are unable to sleep and turn on the same news channel, where they see LIVE coverage of the pharmacy. Edward rushes out the door, believing that he is responsible for the situation. FIN.

**Chapter Ten**

Jude's sneakers crackled on the scattered autumn leaves as he nervously trailed the moonlight through the maze of surrounding maples. He tugged on the straps of his backpack subconsciously, instinctively tightening his grip on all that he possessed in this world. The wind whipped behind him, urging the small boy forward and just barely concealing the sound of the footsteps that had been skillfully following his own for miles.

000

Callie gawked at Stef in dumb disbelief, not even attempting to mask the mixture of incredulity and culpability that was clearly painted on her countenance. _How could she determine what to confess, where to begin to explain, whether or not it was even possible? What could she say that this cop didn't already know, or that would matter in the slightest? _She opened and closed her mouth several times before ultimately shrugging and sputtering, "He's right. I don't honestly know what else there is to say." Her manner expressed finality, but, when her eyes were captured by the older woman's patient reflection, she quietly questioned, "What would you like me to tell you?"

The blonde smiled affectionately at Callie's genuine admission, at her progressive compliance in regards to communication. "How about your name and age, love? _Like, as in, what's printed on your birth certificate_," she emphasized with a small, teasing smirk. "Could you tell me that, please?"

The teen nodded, turned her gaze upward and inhaled in appreciative relief. _I can do this. I can answer some questions. No big deal. Just pretend you're back in school. _"Callie Jacob, 15."

"Ok, Callie." Stef paused. "Thank you. I know that must have been hard—for you to trust me, but this is _good_. I am not lying when I say that want to help you, Callie." She leaned forward in earnest now, and her hair fell lightly around her shoulders, softly framing the frank expression on her features.

"I _don't_ trust you," the girl spit back, leaning her head wearily against the pharmacy counter and widening the gap between them once more. She didn't mean to be disrespectful, really, but the woman had requested the truth, and the truth was that Callie had learned a long time ago not to trust anyone but herself; evidently, even that degree of confidence was laughable, considering her current position.

"Ok. That's fair," Stef conceded kindly, unwilling to back down now that she had coaxed the girl this far. It also hadn't escaped her attention that Callie seemed to have forgotten about the weapon, which separated them, altogether. She avoided glancing down at the gun, detaining the teen's gaze instead. "I'll bet that you trust Jude, though. Is that true?"

"I do," Callie confirmed. _It was now or never._ She breathed deeply, fixing the cop with the intensity of her severe demeanor. Her voice flowed forth with both steadiness and sobriety, but an undercurrent of desperation washed over the words that tumbled from her lips nonetheless. "He's not safe right now. That's why I need you to find him." The teen ducked her head slightly. "I think we both know that I won't be able to," she added just as Stef's arm snuck forward and latched onto the cold metal barrel.

000

Edward approached the scene slowly, temporarily blinded by the array of blinking lights. He found a spot down the block, sidling up to the curb not far from the barricade. Favoring the shadows created by the downtown awnings, he hobbled toward the pharmacy undetected, scanning scrupulously for an unsupervised entrance.

000

In one swift motion, Stef spun the revolver into her own hands and out of the teen's. Callie let out a startled shriek, and the two women rose to their feet in simultaneous reaction.

"Why did you DO that? I was talking to you!" The adolescent cried in petulant frustration. The whine in her pitch and the sudden, childish deportment would have been comical if Stef weren't afraid that she'd just ruined the tenuous bond they had forged. She wasn't sure why it was so important. She'd done her job. The girl could be held for formal questioning now, could be appropriately punished for her crime. But the blonde couldn't deny the promise that she made to her grandfather, or to Callie; she couldn't walk away without closure now, without hearing the rest of the story. She silently cursed her bleeding heart, but an irksome voice in the back of her mind argued that she'd be happy no other way.

"I know that you were talking, sweetie, and I want to _keep_ talking to you without worrying that you might hurt yourself, or me, for that matter. OK?" Stef placed the gun in her belt and strode towards the teen slowly, with her hands in the air. Callie slid backwards with each step that the woman made, but it wasn't long until her heels hit the wall. Stef handcuffed Callie's left wrist to her own with practiced speed and dexterity. "I'm not going anywhere yet, and neither are you."

Stef's radio spluttered loudly, interrupting Callie's vehement protests. "Everything OK in there, Foster?" The lead detective's presence exploded into the still space, ricocheting off the brick and igniting panic in the adolescent's eyes. All of their sudden movements must have alarmed the crowd outside.

"Yes, Sir. We're fine." The policewoman paused long enough to give Callie's hand a gentle squeeze. "I have the weapon and the girl. Name is Callie Jacob, 15. Call off the dogs and give me ten."

"10-4" Came the static response.

For a long moment only silence filled the air. Then a quiet voice uttered, "What's going to happen to me now? I mean… where will I go?" Callie's knees buckled as stubborn tears flooded her vision and clogged her throat, coating her words with a heavy comprehension. She already knew the answer.

"Well, love, there will be no avoiding Juvenile Detention at this point," The woman's warning was cut short by a great, shuddering sigh; the teen had begun to heave as though the room lacked oxygen. _How could she reach Jude from behind iron bars? _

"Hey, hey, sweets. I need you to breathe." Stef lead the girl back into a seated position, rubbing her free hand in soothing circles between the teen's shoulder blades, relaxing the palpable tension that existed there. Callie flinched once before shamefully surrendering to the contact. She couldn't remember the last time that someone had comforted her in this way, had brushed her hair behind her ears and calmed her with touch alone. _Not since her mother. _

Stef continued her motions absentmindedly, assuring the girl as best she could. "We're not leaving yet. I still need some answers from you, and, depending on your cooperation and honesty, I might be able to speak to the judge, get him to lessen the sentence—especially if Edward is right, and someone put you up to this, to all of it." The older woman glanced sidelong at the troubled girl who was already stealing her heart piece by piece, little criminal that she was. There was something about her that reminded Stef of the twins, but she couldn't put her finger on precisely what it was.

Callie knew that she shouldn't compromise the only opportunity that she had been granted for salvation by demanding petty truths, but she couldn't stop the uncertainty from escaping regardless, "Why do you care?" There was no malice in her tone, only simple inquisition.

"That's a fair question. If I answer you honestly, though, then it's my turn to do all the asking. Got it?"

Callie nodded noiselessly.

"Well, I suppose that there are a lot of reasons that I want to help you, Callie. For one, and don't you dare tell my wife that I said this, I'm starting to really believe in fate—"

"Wait, you're a dyke?" The girl blurted impulsively, more out of surprise than disapproval.

"We prefer the term people, but yes. Now stop interrupting, please." Stef shot the girl her most maternal look of consternation, and the teen straightened immediately.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"As I was saying," Stef continued, "You literally called me out of my bed to be here, less than 24 hours after my grandfather called to describe your situation and to request my help. I already told you that I don't take promises lightly. I wasn't sure how I was going to find you, honestly, but then you found me."

"Why did he think that you could—would—help me?"

"Are you going to let me tell you, or are you just going to keep being rude?" The cop admonished with an unmistakable twinkle in her eyes. Callie's cheeks reddened; she raised her right hand, the one that wasn't handcuffed to the blonde, and drew a finger across her lips in silent contract.

Stef chuckled. _This girl was something else._ "OK, then. I told that you that I am a mother. Two of my children are twins, 14 years of age now, adopted five years ago from the foster system. They suffered horribly before coming to my wife and me, but they're doing remarkable now. Mariana's on the honor roll, and Jesus, well," Stef snorted and rolled her eyes, "he's a great athlete and a loyal brother, despite being a bundle of energy." She wrapped her fingers around the girl's, holding the adolescent's hand thoughtfully in her own, ignoring the metal rings that encircled them. "Edward and I share a compassion for lost youth, Callie, kids at a crossroads, and I think it's fair to assume that he wasn't wrong about you. He must have seen something in you worth saving, and I always trust his judgment."

"You shouldn't," the teen muttered, staring down at her dirty converses.

Stef cupped Callie's chin in her palm and raised the adolescent's gaze to meet her own. "Listen to me, love." She smiled sadly at the girl, but not without sincerity. "You are not worthless. You are not disposable."

And with those simple words, Callie unleashed her soul. She told the woman everything, from the moment that her mother died to the moment that she pummeled through the pharmacy door. She explained Plan A and Plan B. Her words came out in a rush, demon after demon tripping off her tongue, until all there was left to say was, "Please find my brother. He's alone and scared, I'm sure of it. There is no one else but me."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Yeah… sorry doesn't even seem to do it justice. Life is busy, but it's summer now, and I seem to have recovered from my writer's block… so, if anyone is still interested in this story… here you go! I promise to update more regularly (until at least September), as long as people still want to read it?

**Recap: **In Chapter Ten, Jude escaped the gang residence where he and Callie were living and is walking to a pre-determined location in order to meet up with his sister (Plan B is in motion since she did not return to the house). Unbeknown to Jude, he is being followed. Meanwhile, Edward decides to show up on the scene, wanting to help. Still in the pharmacy, Stef steals the gun away from Callie and handcuffs them together; the two have a heart to heart. Stef admits why she wants to help, and Callie opens up about her life and role in the gang. She ends by asking Stef to find Jude.

**Chapter Eleven**

Stef led Callie to the awaiting vehicle possessively, dismissing the assistance of the few remaining officers, the handcuffs now tightly enclosing both of the girl's slender wrists. Daylight was softly breaking, and the sky was painted in dirty streaks of pink and blue. With the scene cleared and the area mostly deserted, the world had settled into the eerie quiet that is dawn. When the adolescent was safely stowed in the backseat, the blonde slid in beside her.

"You'll be OK. It's late." Stef glanced up and cracked a tired smile. "Or early, I guess. They'll book you and give you a bed. Try to get some sleep. I'll come see you this afternoon, just like I promised."

Callie swallowed hard and nodded, willing herself to be strong. If she was being honest, she was afraid, terrified to leave this woman's side actually, to face whatever was coming alone. But there was Jude, and the cop had vowed to locate him immediately. The thought of her brother, hunched under the maple trees, watching the sun rise, was enough to keep her own fears at bay. _She would not be selfish anymore. _There is something about the view from behind bulletproof glass that perforates the very heart of one's conscience, cages the freedom of denial. _Everything that had transpired over the past two years was not a result of the universe, some random pick of the draw. She had made choices, rotten ones, and, no matter the motive, she had destroyed Jude's life as well as her own. She had tried, and failed, to protect them time and time again. _Indisputably, the most valuable of realizations are painful, so Callie wasn't grateful for the epiphany. Angrily pinching the skin surrounding the coils on her wrist and registering the sharp sting that leapt up the nerves of her arm, she could at least acknowledge that she was both disgusted and relieved to be alive.

She was startled to feel Stef's hand grasp her fingers, quell her movements. She was equally surprised that the cop hadn't left yet. Stef opened her mouth to speak once more but stopped when her eyes fell upon a figure in the darkness beyond them, a man who was trying desperately to blend into the brick of the pharmacy. She slipped out of the car and stood immediately beside it, one hand resting on the black metal roof.

"Edward?" She called. With a quick wink, she slammed the door and strode off, waving until Callie had disappeared from sight.

000

Stef sighed heavily, shifting into park on the abandoned side street that was indicated on the hand-drawn map. Lane after lane of towering maples lay before them, obscuring the brightening sun. Little parties of robins and blue jays hopped from branch to branch, chirping cheerfully at the approaching day.

"This is it." The blonde turned to her accomplice, who grabbed his cane in reply.

They had been walking for miles, yelling Jude's name in tangent, winding in and out of the trees until even Stef was resigned to admit they were nowhere. She paced figure eights in frustration now, irritated by her own, obvious shortcomings, and she flushed with guilt when Edward gratefully reclined on a fallen trunk. He hadn't complained once, and the overwhelming love she felt for the old man forced her to stop at once to sit beside him.

They had just caught their breath when he grasped her elbow and pointed, his eyes wide and stricken. There, about 20 feet in front of them, was a torn copy of _Spiderman_ and a little boy's shoe.


	12. Chapter 12

**Recap:**

Stef gives Callie over to the authorities, promising first to locate her brother and second to visit that afternoon. Stef and Edward then search for Jude but find only a comic book and a children's shoe in the woods.

**Chapter Twelve**

"I was told that I'd be given a bed," Callie began hesitantly, trying desperately to ignore the security guard's broad, roaming hands. She was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open, despite the intrusiveness of the situation; experience had taught her just how dangerous it is to be tired in a place like this one.

"Oh, were you, Princess? I suppose you'll be expecting a gourmet meal as well. Right after your morning tea and crumpet, perhaps?" The officer placed her palm on the nape of Callie's neck and bent the adolescent over roughly, sniggering wildly at her own crude hysterics. "Drop trough, spoiled girl. When we're done here, you're off to the day room, where you can play with all of the other royal subjects. Welcome to Juvenile Detention."

000

Stef inclined wearily against the driver's side door, turning her face to the morning sun and running through all of the available options in her mind. Edward watched her from his seat on the fallen maple, turning the missing boy's shoe in his hands distractedly.

"I ought to open the store. Maybe that young man can help us—the one from the picture I sent you."

"I'm not sure that you should open today, Pops." Stef responded dismissively, preoccupied by the worry and uncertainty that surmounted with every passing hour. "If this Marco is as vindictive as Callie seems to think he is, then there's a good chance he already knows what happened at the pharmacy. You said yourself that it was on the local news. If you were spotted at the crime scene, talking to the police, it might not be safe for business right now." The blonde tugged her phone out of the back pocket of her blue jeans and powered it on. "I guess I'd better call—"

"Now, Stephanie," Edward interrupted, clearly offended by his companion's offhand implications. "I have been running that business, rain or shine, for 50 years, and I'll be damned if I let a young—"

Stef chuckled, snapped fully out of her reverie by the fire in her grandfather's eyes. Spanning the short distance and extending a hand to help him to his feet, she beamed in adoration. "Almost forgot who I was talking to, old man. I apologize."

With a heave and a grunt, he stood, begrudgingly muttering, "I don't know who you're calling old" as he wobbled proudly past.

Stef's resounding laughter was cut short by the sharp trill of her cell. Captain Roberts wasted no words on the other end of the receiver, "You'd better call your wife, Foster. She's been harassing the precinct for hours. Where the hell are you?"

000

She had spent all of ten minutes on the hand-me-down couch before the small knot of girls approached. They fanned quickly out around her, sat in front and beside her, until the teen was uncomfortably resigned to admit that there was abruptly nowhere to turn.

A tall girl with almond colored eyes and a thick rope of hair winked coyly at the only officer in the room, who became suddenly fascinated with the deserted hallway.

"We got a message for you, new girl." An emaciated brunette leaned towards Callie now, greasy strands of hair obscuring light blue eyes and a pointed, freckled nose. "Marco says you fucked up, and you gonna pay."

Even though she knew what was coming, the first fist came as a surprise. She felt the blood in her teeth, but it was the final whisper that knocked Callie out cold.

"He also said to tell you that _Jude says hello_."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **Thank you all SO much for sticking with me! I guess I learned not to make promises that I might not be able to keep (in regards to updating). I decided to post another chapter to show my gratitude for your patience, however :) I'm too lazy to write a recap today though. Lol.

**Chapter Thirteen**

"What do you mean, 'she's in the infirmary'? I dropped her off this morning, and no one made mention of her requiring specific medical attention. Is this standard procedure?" Stef stood anxiously outside of the Plexiglas window in the detention center, impatiently drumming her fingers on the frame.

The receptionist, a blonde with immoderate proportions of hairspray and blue eye liner, stared lazily back from the inside. "I don't know what to tell you, ma'am." Glancing indifferently down at her magazine, red nails thumbing through glossy colored pages, she added, "You can, like, come back later maybe?"

"Yeah, sure, of course! I can just come back—" Stef's sarcastic and progressively explosive tirade was derailed by the vibration of her cell. _Lena_. Sighing audibly, she stepped away from the counter and found shade under a nearby awning. She had sent her wife a text after speaking with Roberts, but she'd been so admittedly distracted that she didn't think to return home after saying goodbye to Edward. She'd come straight here, to be accosted by some 80s punk rocker on a power trip. The officer knew that she owed her spouse an explanation, but the captain's words seemed to occupy all of the space in her mind.

"_I hate to say that you might be in over your head with this girl. The gun you turned in, the one she used in the robbery, well there's a whole string of unsolved murders tied to that weapon. Ballistics is having a field day. Someone from the FBI is coming. You know those arrogant assholes. They're insisting on working with the gang division." Roberts paused on the other end, her tone tempering. "I know that your intentions are honorable, Foster, but do you really think that you can even help the kid? What if this Marco is nowhere to be found?"_

What she needed was to talk to Callie, get a lead on this guy. After another twenty minutes with the blonde bimbo, however, little headway had been made; Stef did manage to ascertain that the girl's injuries were at least mild. Leaving a note that she hoped would reach Callie, she finally hopped into the vehicle and headed back to her house, to her comfortable bed, to her beautiful wife. _There was always tomorrow._

000

The sun was low on the horizon now, casting the old neighborhood in an orangey glow; even the shadows of the street lamps looked like goblins. Edward closed the register and took the signs down slowly, largely satisfied with his day's work. Only the thought of the lost boy haunted him still, and he found himself pocketing a new comic for the child in spite of his absence. Callie's friend had not appeared either, but the old man was accustomed to waiting and was not so easily dissuaded.

With nothing left undone, Edward stepped down onto the asphalt, locking the heavy door behind him. A cool breeze had swept up in the early evening, and the sky was darkening quickly. _A peaceful dusk_, he thought. _Maybe rain. We sure could use it here._ He had taken only a few steps forward when a rustling in the trees nearby made the hairs on the back of his neck stand briefly.

"Psst!" Damien's long arm snaked out of the foliage, beckoning the elder. Recognizing the youth and recovering from his shock in no certain order, Edward approached the scene noiselessly. When he was securely enclosed in the green, leafy branches, the teen hissed in conspiracy, "I don't know what you doin', Gramps, but you in trouble now." Damien's eyes scanned the surroundings hastily before falling on the old man once more. "Why couldn't you just keep to yo'self?" The two men countered one another in strained silence, a gentle breeze kicking up the pine needles around their feet. Frustration flashed across the juvenile's features before the expression softened perceptibly. "You talked to Callie, right? Is she OK?"

Edward was opening his mouth to reply when a whistle pierced the night air, shattering the eerie calm constructed by their hushed conversation; Damien looked stricken in response. A warning tumbled from his lips.

"There's no time. You better run as fast as your legs can carry you, Gramps. They comin' for you. And tell Callie, _she can't ever come back_."


End file.
